Black and Grey
by Rabid Lola
Summary: The first time they actually met, each already knew about the other. Odd, EXPERIMENTAL pairing, oneshot. Akabane x Clayman.


_**Black and Grey **_

_A Get Backers Fanfic with a really unorthodox pairing by Rabid Lola _

_**Disclaimer: **This came when I was sick and isolated for two days, a few months ago, and obviously I had nothing better to do…maybe that's the reason the pairing's so strange. Heh. I just had to try. Note, this was an **experiment**. Meaning, I don't avidly support this pairing, and...I probably won't write another one. n.n _

_Something more unorthodox than this will be like…okay, I just thought of something really creepy and I won't even go there. 0.o _

_Read on, tell me watcha think. And, by the way, Akabane and Clayman belong to…you should know. No, really, you should. _

…**---…**

The first time they actually met, each already knew about the other.

He'd heard about her, the Gray Thief, the art collector. A strange woman, all in all, whose hands could create illusions like the Jagan. Illusions that crumbled into clay, but not after they'd served their purpose.

She'd heard about him, the blood thirsty hakobiya, a man whose first pleasure was to bring you to Death's gate in the most challenging way possible. That did not prevent her from hiring him.

"Good evening, Miss Clayman." A perfect gentleman, swathed all in black from boots to hat, the cool, amused drawl stopping just by her table.

She nodded at him, her green gaze placid; gestured for him to seat himself and be comfortable. "Akabane Kuroudo-san." She should have known he had already arrived: the restaurant had gone strangely quiet, for a moment, then the noise had picked up again, uncertain and hushed.

They ordered dinner, made small talk…when the food arrived they began on business. "This job you have, Miss Clayman…?" he inquired politely, as he cut up his meat with delicate precision. She took no notice, or if she did, did not find it intimidating.

She lifted her glass, sipped quietly at the alcohol inside. "You are one of the finest hakobiyas, am I correct?"

Akabane bowed his head modestly. "So some say."

"Have you heard of Kitase Mariko?"

He tilted his head a little, searched his mind for the familiar-sounding name. "A contemporary artist, I believe?" he asked at last, and she nodded. He nodded, too, as memory filled in the spaces of his mental sight. "Her works are dark, and intriguing. At least, I find them so."

"She is a good friend of mine, and lives in the Tokyo vicinity," Clayman continued. "She will be having an exhibit in Kyushu, in around a week. I would like you to transport her artworks from her studio to the place of the exhibit, as soon as possible."

His face and voice did not show anything, but she could sense slight displeasure in him as he said, "Forgive me, Miss Clayman, but it does not sound so…"

"Challenging?" She smiled at him, a professional, knowing smile. "It is, Akabane-san, because she has a rival right now who would love to sabotage her works. He is very subtle, and very…shall we say, creative. Trust me, the job _will_ be challenging. Although, since these are not stolen goods, the Get Backers will not be showing up." She knew he enjoyed jobs with them.

He had to laugh at this, a surprised, soft chuckle. "Miss Clayman, I never suspected I was that transparent."

She smiled again and lifted her glass to him. "You aren't, Akabane-san. I am just observant."

…**---..**.

The next time they met was soon after; this time, he was delivering the goods to her.

She stepped out from the darkness cloaked in gray and face shadowed, watching silently as his car pulled up. He recognized her, though, by her gait and her posture, and when he rolled down the window…

"Thank you, sir…Akabane-san!" There was a hint of surprise in her voice, as her gloved hands took the carefully wrapped sculpture from him. A small smile played across her lips. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I seem to be running into you and your art friends a lot lately," he commented, tipping his hat at her. "Was Kitase-san happy with the job?"

"Indeed she was," she said, green eyes twinkling. "I only hire the very best, after all."

"You flatter me, Miss Clayman," he said. He managed a half-bow in his seat. "Till we meet again."

…**---…**

The third time they met, they were working on opposite sides.

"I didn't know you worked as a dakkanya," he commented, as he faced her on top of Mr. No-Brake's roaring truck. He cocked his head. "Maybe it's because this is an art object, again?"

She was cloaked once more in gray, because you can hardly retrieve something in the usual suit she wore. She nodded. "Dakkanya, intermediary, annaiya, art collector…I'll take any job connected to art. I only cannot be a hakobiya, for I cannot drive anything to save my life." She laughed softly, and her gray-white hair shivered in the wind of the truck.

"Then you cannot get out of here," he pointed out mildly, as he threw several warning scalpels at her.

She dodged them with ease, leapt into the air, and landed behind him…suddenly hardened clay was pinning his arms to his torso, and she was a few feet away, almost smirking at him, ready to climb down the sides of the truck.

He laughed. "Interesting." Scalpels shot out of his body, slicing through the clay and nicking her cloak. He leaped and stood over her, an expression of almost regret on his face. "But you know I cannot let you get our goods."

She bowed her head. "I know, Akabane-san." She continued to make her way down the side of the truck, to get at the door.

He sighed, sliced with his scalpels… 

And she crumbled into a thousand tiny bits of clay.

_A clay puppet?! _

Over the roar of the truck, he heard the sound of a motorcycle. Running to the other side, he saw her in the passenger car of—who else?—the Lady Poison. Both women waved jauntily at him, and Clayman gestured to the box of goods at her feet. "Till we meet again, Akabane-san!" she called.

…**---…**

Soon after that, they had to work together. You could see the slight nervousness in her face, the tension in her voice as she tried to say calmly, "No hard feelings from our last encounter, Akabane-san?"

He chuckled, and tipped the brim of his hat. "None, none, Miss Clayman." Violet eyes peered down mirthfully at green. "In fact, I found you quite an interesting challenge. I would like to thank you for that."

His smile was what you could call sincere, and it gave a little comfort.

…**---…**

They met many times again after that, mostly for business, a few by accident in different places. The latter often ended with their eating someplace together. She _did_ manage to get him a job with the Get Backers, once, although she made him promise not to tell, because she hardly thought they would appreciate it as much as he did.

The realization for her came, though, when she was opening a new exhibit, this time a combination of her works and her mother's, in a mall. She was dressed in her usual…nondescript suit, soft-colored tie, smiling pleasantly at the people coming to view. A tall, black-clad man caught her eye, and she looked at him in surprise. "I didn't think you would come," she told him, as he stopped beside her.

He bowed. "For a friend and fellow art lover, why not?" He looked down at her. "Come, Miss Clayman, show me your works."

"My mother's are much better than mine," she protested, as she led him to the various paintings and sculptures. "I am only an amateur, she is so much more."

"I'll be the judge of that," he informed her. She smiled.

When she finished showing him around, she glanced up at him. "Your verdict, sir?"

He shook his head, partly in pride, partly in disbelief, though not much of the latter. "Miss Clayman, you are wrong…your works are quite as good as your mother's." He smiled down at her. "You are no amateur. I didn't expect any less. "

It was his smile that did it, sending butterflies fluttering wild in her stomach, and she covered it by laughing and waving him away.

There were butterflies in her stomach, and the beginnings of fear in her mind.

…**---…**

She thought she'd felt like this, one time long before. She had the physical scars to prove it…he hadn't been the best of choices. While miraculously, she wasn't that emotionally scarred, she did not want to repeat the experience.

But now she knew it was the real thing. Or would lead to it, eventually. And that scared her more than anything.

She hadn't had feelings this strong in a long time, for she was never one to feel the extremes. Always there was a placid, cool serenity within her; her only passion had always been art. And now…

After the exhibit she decided to move away…for a while, she told herself. A vacation. Yeah right, a vacation that consisted in shipping all the artworks in her house to another city, and packing everything to follow.

She wanted it quiet, so no one would suspect. Her belongings and artworks were all waiting, in the airport…she was taking a two AM flight, and thus left her house with only her suitcase at around ten PM, that night. She did not wear her businessman's suit; it was too recognizable. Instead, she chose tan slacks and a casual, rose-colored, long-sleeved blouse that fit her figure nicely…things Clayman would never really wear. She put on a mask, too…a fair-skinned, pretty teenage girl with long dark hair. Also un-Clayman-like. She made her way to the bus stop, taking all the shortcuts she knew.

She cut into a seemingly deserted alleyway…and an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her into a hard, lean body. Another hand clamped over her mouth as she tried to scream.

She struggled, dropping her suitcase, then quieted, and when the man removed his hand she opened her mouth to yell…but the sight of a glowing scalpel protruding from a fist stopped her.

Was this his hobby, abducting helpless people in the night and then killing them?

She choked out his name as the scalpel sped towards her…. But it only made a small, fine slice in the mask she was wearing, causing it to crumble and break on the ground. She covered her face as her hair spilled over her shoulders, white and gray and soft, and she found that she was trembling. "And where are you going, Miss Clayman?" his voice whispered into her ear, his breath soft and warm on the back of her neck. She sucked in a breath of her own, then gasped when she felt his hand slide into her pocket, grasping the papers inside and bringing them out into the light. Arm not leaving her waist, he read what they said in the dim light. "Hmm…a ticket to a city in Shikoku, no less, passport papers, legal documents…" 

"Akabane-san…" she said weakly.

"This is a rather uncharacteristic move for you, Miss Clayman," he continued, voice still low. "The cool and businesslike woman I know doesn't run away." Violet eyes gazed at her, and she could feel herself going red. "For that is what you are doing, is it not? Are you afraid, Miss Clayman?"

"Akabane…" He laid a hand over her mouth, and she fell silent.

"Mr. No-Brake took some of your belongings to the airport. He wondered why you were leaving, and called me.

"There are still many things I want to learn about you, Miss Clayman," he said quietly, and his tone made her shiver slightly, not necessarily out of fear. A slight smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "One of them being, of course, your name. It is getting awkward, calling you 'Miss Clayman' all the time, and I don't know how you managed to leave your name as that on all official documents without getting into trouble with the government. That is hardly your real name, am I right?" She nodded, embarrassed, trying not to think about the feeling of his torso against her back, or his arm still secure around her.

He released her, then, and she stepped quickly away and knelt to pick up her suitcase. A gloved hand came down on her wrist, and another absently tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, and he said softly, "It will be difficult, traveling across Japan to find out these things, won't it?" She nodded again, and he added, "But…maybe I'll manage."

She started and looked up at him, but was standing already, hat pulled low over his face, the barest hint of a smile around his mouth. "Till we meet again, Clayman," he said softly. Then, in a slightly mischievous tone, "You should dress like that more often. You become prettier than you already are."

He left.

…**---…**

The next day, on a hunch, he visited her house. The gate was unlocked, and so was the door…she was unpacking boxes in the main hall, and looked up when he entered.

He smiled. "Ah. You decided to stay." She nodded wordlessly, and smiled when he took off hat and coat and knelt to help her unpack.

When they were done, he took her out to eat.

…**--EnD--…**

**A/N 2: To readers of The Promise: **-points at fic- Meant to tide you over until I post the next chapter. Which is sometime. n.n Now I'm off to cram for school. And tests. Yeah. Bye!


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